Red Roses

We gave five authors from five different Harlequin and Silhouette series the same opening paragraph, and asked each of them to write the rest of the story. The result is five very distinctive individual stories that are compelling, engaging and, of course, romantic!

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Chapter One

(This is the opening paragraph the Harlequin.com editors gave to all five authors:)

"And the last bachelor up for bids is..."

Alex tuned out the auctioneers voice and wondered for the millionth time how hed gotten roped into this. A bachelor auction was definitely not his style  even on Valentines Day. But, he reminded himself, this was for a good cause.

Tugging at the collar of his uniform, he shifted uneasily as the auctioneer continued his sales pitch. Should he smile? Pose? He just didnt feel comfortable up on stage with a blinding spotlight shining on him. He hoped he didnt look as nervous as he felt.

The auctioneer was driving up the bids  but all Alex could hear was the roar of the crowd as women yelled out numbers and cheered each other on. Squinting into the lights, he tried to make out who was bidding on him, but to no avail.

Then, before he knew it, the gavel sounded. Hed been sold! But to who...?

Taylor Fanning. He knew it, somewhere deep in his gut, before he even looked at her again. That was about his luck lately. Besides, Taylor had plainly told him that she was going to get him and she was famous all over Texas for always getting whatever she went after.

Sure enough, one glance at her confirmed his hunch. She shot him a blazing blue victory glance and a smile that sent a thrill down his spine in spite of his best effort to resist it. He looked away and set his jaw. He had to hold on to his aggravation or shed have him roped and hog-tied before he knew what hit him.

Yet he felt the corners of his mouth lift in a grin as he followed the other bachelor rodeo cowboys, all dressed in the Valentines Day "uniform"  tuxedos  that the auction had required them to wear, across the portable stage toward the steps leading to the floor of the arena. He was looking forward to being with her again. Taylor was a lot of fun.

And she was one bold woman, all right. He always liked the bold ones best, but usually they had no real power over him. Taylor was different.

Taylor could stir him, body and soul, with no more than a glance. No more than a hint of a smile. No more than one light brush of her fingertips against his hand. That fact scared him a little.

Hed found that out during their one previous date, which his supposed-to-be best friend, Monte McMahan, had set up for them. Well, actually, he couldnt blame good old Monte. It was Montes wife, Jo Lena, and Taylor whod instigated the whole thing, both of them not hesitating for a minute to own up to that fact. He and poor Monte had only been helpless pawns in the plan. But they hadnt had a second date planned  until now.

Taylor appeared at his side the minute his shining black boots hit the soft dirt of the arena floor.

"Alex, you look wonderful in that tuxedo," she said. "All of yall look like movie stars, but youre far and away the most handsome."

"Ha," he said, tugging at his collar again, "we look like a bunch of idiots in these monkey suits and you know it. I never wore one before and Ill never do it again."

Taylor slid her hand into the crook of his elbow, sending the smell of her perfume drifting into his nostrils. The aroma was as bright and sassy as Taylor herself.

"Oh, now, dont talk like that," she said, with a twinkle. "This is just the beginning. No telling where well want to go together."

"Just so its not to the altar," he said lightly.

She laughed. Taylor had a low, husky laugh that he loved to hear.

"What makes you think Id be interested in marrying you?" she asked, tossing her long black hair back over her shoulder.

She looked up at him with such a grin, such a challenge, that he could do nothing but grin back at her.

"Oh, I dont know," he said. "Maybe because you were singing Im Gonna Getcha Good right before I went up on that stupid stage."

"Is there a line in that song about marriage?" she asked. "No-o-o. Youre the one who brought up the subject."

Her long legs matched his every stride as they crossed the arena floor and wove their way in and out of the crowd, heading for the door. That was another thing he liked about her. She could keep up with him.

She took her arm back so she could tick off the list on her fingers, and he got the weirdest sensation. He felt abandoned, somehow.

"Break up with your girlfriend  excuse me, girlfriendsnbsp; before Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years Eve, Valentines Day, the Fourth of July, and even such insignificant dates as Flag Day or the spring solstice, because any date or gift on such occasions carries extra significance and she could jump to the wrong conclusions. Never send red roses because they stand for true love. Never date the same woman for more than four months, and never date one exclusively. Am I right?"

His heart sank and lifted all at the same time, if such a thing were possible. It sank because she was so interested that shed found out all that personal stuff about him. But it lifted, too, for that very reason.

That scared him. A lot.

He reached for her hand and pulled it back through the crook of his elbow  just to establish that he was in control of this whole situation.

"To tell you the truth," he drawled, "I dont even know when the spring solstice is."